


Darling, Don't You Be Afraid

by Sine_Timor



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Bones, Cancer Sucks, Drugs are Bad, Flashbacks, Khan is an asshole, Medical Conditions, Medical Terms Galore, Multi, Sarcasm, So is my OC, platonic sibling love, will add tags as I go along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:29:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1498423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sine_Timor/pseuds/Sine_Timor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been exactly one year since the war criminal Khan Noonien Singh was brought to justice. The U.S.S Enterprise has been fully repaired, and is scheduled to embark upon a five year exploration, beneath the command of James Tiberius Kirk, and his loyal first officer, Spock. However, unbeknownst to them, a young medical officer serving under Leonard McCoy now threatens the Federation of Planets. In a wild gamble to save her younger sister from Alveolar soft part sarcoma, a rare, terminal cancer, she awakens Khan from his cryogenic sleep- in exchange for revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I'd do not own any of the Star Trek Characters or storyline.

Three Days Prior To The Departure Of The U.S.S. Enterprise's Five Year Mission In Deep Space

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I was alone.  
  
Darkness spread over the surface of the ceiling, broken only by tiny blue intervals in the shape of strategically placed lights. What little I could make out of my surroundings consisted of a curved roof, sterile walls, and the odd, shadowy impression of light reflecting against glass in the dark.  
  
The estranged organ in my chest beat with anticipation, tempered by fear, questions for which I had no answer, possibilities with poor end results.  
  
"I'm sorry Mrs. Thompson, but her prognosis is increasingly negative."  
  
I heard a distant noise, and my breath caught, laying useless in my mouth, as the oxygen wasted away in the depths of a still throat. Muscles tensed, life organ pounding, adrenaline seeping into my arteries, as my brain ceased to function correctly. Synapses crackled across an ancient, primal part of the cerebral, and overpowered reason with the urge to run, as far and as fast as I could. Out of this forbidden enclave, away from this building, this city and its people. Away from this useless hope, of meaningless x-rays, pitying faces, hospital rooms, and sterile lighting. To get away from E.R. elevators that play funeral music, the doctors cold, sympathetic face. Funeral plans and pre-ordered flowers, for a girl who was already dead in their eyes.  
  
"The cancer has already metastasised in the brain. I'd say she has six months to live, maybe more, maybe less."  
  
"How much more? Nine months? A year?"  
  
"Unlikely. It would take a miracle."  
  
"A miracle?"  
  
"A miracle."  
  
My chest was tight, suffocating, but no longer did tears spring up at these broken record conversations, no longer did I scream and yell when I came back from yet another hopeless surgery. What once felt like stepping on razor blades was now simply numb, mottled tissue. Too scarred to stop my feet from falling in empty hallways, white lights burning into my brain.  
  
I exhaled, expelling the memories into the air around me, but they simply hung in place, awaiting a moment of silence to play up again. A never ending slide show of grief, the same, reoccurring questions, now a constant sound track to accompany and remind. I made a half hearted attempt to shut them out, but it was futile. There was no mute button for the brain, no rewind button for life. No off button for emotions that once left me breathless.  
  
I allowed my gaze to settle on the sardonic display that decorated the room, acknowledging the seventy three, living beings, that lay side by side. Frozen coffins, sitting in neat little rows and columns. I almost envied them- suspended, perhaps indefinitely, they still had one another. Even in this living death, they were not alone.  
  
I pushed this thought to the back of my head, because it was useless to dwell among these shallow graves, when every moment that passed, was another I couldn't take back. Just as useless as replaying the same what ifs and whys.  
  
Shall we begin. That voice was the monotone of my dreams, the monster beneath the bed, the embodiment of hatred and savagery. It was mocking, enraged, anticipatory. It was chaos, triumph behind blue eyes, all eyes turned towards the imminent threat. Spock, rigid, faced with this ultimatum.  
  
He would kill me without hesitation.  
  
I couldn't afford to care.  
  
My eyes fell upon the face of an unknown subject. The expression was still, eyes closed, a flurry of short cut, blonde hair, and a handful of freckles sprayed across his cheeks. He couldn't be more than 25 or so, and within the confines of the cryo-tube, I could almost forget that he was a 300 year old exile. Almost. Allowing my gaze to linger a second longer, I turned away, presenting my eyes to the entirety of the hanger. One down, seventy two to go.  
  
My path was painted with footsteps, but the search was short. I passed down the first row, trying not to look to closely at the breathless bodies laid to rest.  
  
But there was no way to forget them. An older woman, with long, pin straight black hair, and mocha skin. A man, with ear length, curly brown hair, and a fair complexion. Another man, with a square jaw, a slight stubble, and these amazingly bright, ginger locks.  
  
I inhaled, sharp like a Swiss blade, cutting oxygen in my lungs to their screaming distaste.  
  
The face was flawless, soft, new. Undamaged and delicate. Her hair was a light, honeyed brown, subtle blonde highlights frozen still, but a single strand pressed into her cheek, separated from the slightly wavy mane. Bangs that had grown too long almost completely covered her eyes, tiny brown freckles dusted lightly over her face, and she had the smallest scar on her bottom lip. Her left hand was curled into a small fist against her chest, and it took me several seconds to realise her fingers were clasped around a tiny gold cross.  
  
"It's time to pray, El. Close your eyes, and don't peek."  
  
"I won't, K."  
  
"Promise?"  
  
"I promise."  
  
"Fine, I'll start then."  
  
"Now I lay me down to sleep,  
  
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,  
  
If I shall die before I wake,  
  
I pray the Lord my soul to take."  
  
I opened an eye, withholding a laugh at her, eyes squeezed tightly shut, nose crinkled, as she finished the prayer.  
  
"If I should live another day  
  
I pray the Lord to guide my way.  
  
Amen."  
  
My voice echoed hers, and we both looked at one another, her dark, chocolate coloured irises staring into mine. I brushed a hand over her cheek, and smiled.  
  
It had been a long time since I smiled like that.  
  
The girl couldn't have been more than 10 or 11. She was someone's daughter, perhaps someone's sibling. A friend, a child, a life. This tiny little bud preserved by the frost of winter. Never to grow old, simply rotting beneath the ice. It made me ache for something familiar, something I could depend on.  
  
But the only thing I could truly depend on was me, and familiarity was a luxury I could no longer afford. The bittersweet flavour of blood and rain lay ashen in my mouth.  
  
I tore myself from the unknown girl, tore myself from old memories and what I once had. Banished emotion to the dark enclaves of my chest, and stepped away from the constraints of their pull.  
  
He was next.  
  
His expression was far less dangerous then when conscience, almost vulnerable, if not for the ferocity and savagery scorched into my mind. Malicious. Cold. Calculating.  
  
I'd stopped being afraid of the little things when El had been diagnosed with Alveolar soft part sarcoma, an extremely rare form of cancer, that had spawned in her left lung, and spread to her brain and kidneys before it could be caught. Little things like death, like pain, like ego. I had nothing to prove, and almost as much to lose.  
  
I recalled, briefly, how it all began, closing my eyes, fingers tightening around the handle of a Beretta 92. It was old fashioned, practically a family heirloom, but it functioned, and I trusted it- Daniel had showed me how to shoot it when I was younger.  
  
The first sign of something wrong occurred when El, short for Eleanor, was seven. A small swelling was discovered on the side of her chest during a regular check-up. An x-ray revealed a small, benign tumour in her lungs, and was operated on immediately. The surgery was a success, and she recovered within a week or two.  
  
However, two years later, during the second week of August, El began to experience pain in her midriff. We thought nothing of it, until blood showed up in her urine. A visit to the Children's hospital revealed that malign growths had damaged both of her kidneys. The right was in danger of going septic, and had to be removed, while the left could no longer release insulin properly, and she was treated for Type-2 Diabetes.  
  
We knew that something more malicious was at large when, three months after the surgery, my nine year old baby sister had a Gran Mal seizure, and broke her spine in between T8 and T-9- paralysing her from the waist down. A CAT scan revealed that she had probably contracted the cancer when she was around three. It progressed slowly, metastasising gradually until it was too late. I was told it was such a rare, slow sarcoma, that it was hard to diagnose. It sounded like an excuse.  
  
The gun had grown slippery in my hand, a slight quiver in the back of my throat, but I held it back, releasing the gun so I could wipe the sweat from my fingers.  
  
This is for you El.  
  
I pressed a hand to the glass, gaze blank, yet I felt resolve tying the noose tighter around my neck, and my pale fingers slid to where Khan's eyes starred sightlessly. My eyes skirted to the panel that directed the functions of the cryo-tube, and the feeling hit me in the stomach. Not fear, no, nothing that logical. Even in this desperate situation, the thrill of this could find me- It was my addiction, my drug, my high. It was also my undoing.  
  
"What happened Kyle?"  
  
"Nothing E.T.. Go to bed, you have school tomorrow."  
  
"So do you, you're not going to bed."  
  
"I'm older than you. Besides, I'm going to bed as soon as I wash my face off."  
  
"Mom left your dinner out."  
  
"I'll put it away. You can have it for lunch."  
  
"What will you eat?"  
  
"I'll get something at breakfast."  
  
"Kat?"  
  
"Yes E.T.?"  
  
"Why do you always let them hurt you?"  
  
"... Who are you talking about, El?"  
  
"The people who beat you up. You try to hide it from Mom and me, but I can tell. My teacher called them Bug-gies."  
  
".... Do you mean 'bullies'?"  
  
"Nope. Buggies."  
  
"Well El, I don't let the bul- buggies hurt me. I fight back. But there are too many of them. One man can't stand against the world."  
  
"Don't worry Kat, I'll stand with you."  
  
"I know you will ET. "  
  
This is for you.  
  
My eyes narrowed into determined slits, fingers pushing into the panel, my mind replaying the movements in my head. I'd been there when they released the Captain from the cryo-tube used to preserve his cognitive functions and cerebral matter, I'd seen how it was done. And when I saw something, I rarely forgot it. Even from a young age, I'd been told by my doctor that I have a condition called Hypermnesia, which is smart-people speak for a really good memory. I remembered the smallest details, such as the colour of trim on the Indian wall-rug hanging in the east wings anaesthetise mixing lab at the Royal Children's hospital.  
  
Turning my gaze to the 'super' humans frozen grave, I ghosted a finger over the execution panel, which would release this creature into the modern world, like freeing a wolf to run among sheep.  
  
I pressed it.  
  
I was alone.  
  
But not for long.

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	2. Devil's Alliance

I could feel his strong, steady, heartbeat beneath my index and middle finger, ever so slightly slower than the average human, because of his genetic hardiness. I cast a eye over him. Perfect vitals. Preserved in every way. Unconscious, but not for long.  
  
I reached inside my jacket, pulling out a needle, and tapped it a few times to draw out the liquid. A tiny droplet formed on the sharp tip, and I used my left hand to locate his common carotid artery, pressing the sharp point to the injection site. Without hesitation, I inserted the sedative at an angle, replacing the medical instrument in the pocket, before removing another. The contents reflected oddly in the lighting, but I ignored this, using my free hand to turn his head, exposing his spine. With a sudden jolt of viciousness, I broke the skin in between C4 and C5. This was followed by sliding a thin wire into the tiny hole, slowly choreographing its placement. I used surgical staples to close the wound, before casting an eye over the rest of his body. His heartbeat was picking up, I'd used more than the recommended dose to keep him under, but it was wearing off quickly. Making a split second decision, I pulled a tiny glass bottle with a faded label from my coat, and withdrew an empty needle. Breaking the seal with the needle tip, I pulled back, drawing the liquid inside. Stashing it away, I took his limp wrist in my hand. Damnit. The lighting made it hard to see his veins. I wasted a few more seconds tying his upper arm up with a length of surgical tubing, before retrying to locate the pesky vein. I could barely make out the lines of blue, but I was out of time. He was on the verge of consciousness, and I had to act accordingly. I slide the needle in, breath bated in excitement, as much as wariness. My heartbeat quickened as his eyelids crinkled, then opened, revealing startling blue eyes. There was no confusion, merely cold intelligence and cruel, animalistic savagery. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his mouth move, words slurring beyond recognition, and I pressed a hand to his lips, glaring at him with all the severity I could muster. The clarity he'd maintained was severely interrupted by the sudden complicated stream of information. Even as his muscles contracted, his brain struggling to function appropriately based off the visual and mental stimuli, pulse relaxing, gaze losing its intensity, and with it, suffocating clarity passed over me. Narrowing my eyes, I glanced over his vacant expression. The ketamine I'd injected him with was a fast acting 'date-rape' drug, that would inhibit his ability to form memories, as well as his normal nature. As a last precaution, I pushed his face away, inserting a last syringe in his neck, before surveying the man who, only a year ago, had threatened the very existence of the Federation of Planets. Despite his well groomed appearance, his jerky, uneven movements, and thick speech prevented any former respect from surfacing. Already, his face was beginning to swell, distorting his viscous appearance, and I raised an eyebrow as he struggled to extract himself from his former coffin. I allowed myself to enjoy the sight for a few seconds, before yanking on the collar of his shirt to free his leg. Unbalanced, I dug my fingernails into his shoulder to steady him, before closing turning my back to close the cryo-tube.  
  
The hanger was checked every other day per protocol, but seeing as the cryo tubes had to be opened by outside intervention, they were not considered especially high security. Very few people knew of the crews existence, and those who did had no wish to unleash such a monster on the world.  
  
The hanger had been checked for today, so they wouldn't be back until Wednesday, the date of the Enterprises five year endeavour into deep space. Hopefully, the discovery would be delayed. It was a risk I'd been forced to take, and I couldn't afford for it to undo everything I was striving to accomplish. I had to do this. I needed to do this. For Eleanor. For my baby sister.  
  
I could hear him muttering, and I narrowed my eyes, turning to face Khan, but he looked right past me, and it made me angry. Enraged. With a ferocity I hardly knew I was capable of, I swung at him, hitting him square in the jaw, and he stumbled back a little, internally unbalanced, but failed to look fazed. A quick glance at my knuckles revealed five identical bruises beginning to form, and I reached into my pocket, slipping on a pair of surgical gloves with a rasping noise of disgust. Pathetic. If I allowed my emotions to control my actions, I would get myself killed in a laughable amount of time.  
  
I grabbed the augmented human by the wrist, tugging him harshly in the opposite direction, and I found no restraint. In this highly drugged state, he could be as docile as a puppy- but completely unpredictable. The drug dosage was dangerously high, and could make him violent. However, with no intelligent thought behind it, any anger could be put down to illness, so despite his superior genetics, I refused to be concerned.  
  
In one fluid motion, I pulled up a facial mask, sloppily gathering my short hair back into a ponytail so I could tug the blue surgical coverage down to hide my forehead and other effects. It would be nearly impossible to recognise me, and even if I were to be questioned, I had a Doctorate in neurology, and was assigned to the Enterprise as one of their lead medical examiners. This hanger was secluded, but it was in close quarters to the critical condition containment inquiry, and would hopefully be mostly vacant of cadets or officers. Specifically a certain Captain James T. Kirk, or his abnormally observant First Officer, Spock. Even Uhura would be a pain in the ass to scrape by, but she had been ordered to report to inventory recall, a mistake which would surely take time to straighten out.  
  
Taking a precious second to collect my thoughts, making certain I hadn't missed anything important, I inhaled, this deep, determined thing that steadied the slight tremor in my hands.  
  
I opened the door.  
  
Bright, colourless light blinded me, and I squinted, looking back and forth to check if someone saw me, one gloved hand tugging on the drugged up criminal. The other grazed the inside of my medical jacket, and a slight sense of relief passed over me. Digging my jagged, chewed up nails into his limp wrist, I marched down the hallway, attempting to look as not-guilty as I could muster. It was dead silent, for which I was both grateful for, and wary. The security cameras had been taken care of. You could say it was a long story.  
  
However, the quiet was soon to be broken. I rounded a curve in the structure of the building, and shit everything had been going so good, so fucking good, but the hell if that lasted. I cut off that train of thought immediately, as it accomplished nothing, but I couldn't help mentally replaying a string of curses. All I could do was lie- through the very cellular structure that made up my teeth, down deep in the morrow of my bones. Bones.  
  
"Greetings, Dr. McCoy." My voice was calm, but not cheerful enough to be put down as genuine. I saw the furrowed brow that he always seemed to wear deepen. However, it seemed less of a melodramatic frown, and more an expression of true concern. Damn.  
  
"State your name, Officer," I struggled not to roll my eyes, but that would've been disrespectful, and we wouldn't want that, now would we?  
  
"Adrian Xian, sir." He narrowed his eyes in suspicion, though, for all I knew, he just wasn't used to be addressed as 'sir'.  
"Never heard of you. Who's this?" He gestured theatrically at Khan, whose swollen features and vacant eyes were more than enough to hide his true nature. Thank god for ketamine and adverse drug reactions. I almost said 'John Harrison', but I doubt the senior medical officer would find that amusing, or sincere.  
  
"I'm assigned to Psychological aid, so unless you're barking like a mad dog, or suicidally depressed, it's unlikely we will come in contact." If by unlikely, I mean never.  
  
"This is Xavier Harte. He had a paradoxical reaction to the steroids I treated his allergies with, and now he's jacked up on enough antibiotics to kill a horse. He wandered off while I was trying to locate something to treat his hallucinations." By now, the Doctor's eye brows had risen up, into his hairline. Shit. Better think fast, Kylar.  
  
"And um... satyriasis. Also.. uh.." I gestured towards his groin, before punctuating the sentence with an obscene hand gesture, shrugging helplessly. I checked his ears.  
  
Bingo. Redder than a ripe tomato. His cheeks were flushed noticeably, and he'd taken a half step back, as if I had just told him carried the Bubonic Plague.  
  
"Damnit man, I didn't need that mental image. Get going. And keep an eye on him, will you? I don't need you scarring the Cadets." The need to scream had subsided into a controllable urge, and I almost laughed at his horror stricken expression. Instead, I quickly cut off our now awkward encounter.  
  
"It won't happen again sir." I almost didn't catch his parting words as I hurried away, drumming heart beat lessening now that the encounter was over.  
  
"Damn straight..." I allowed myself a quick eye-roll before dragging 'Xavier Harte's royal ass down the hallway. I was hoping to make it to my quarters before Khan threw a temper tantrum, but already he was regaining lucidity. Somehow, I doubted he'd appreciate the state of his face. Or being drugged and kidnapped, but let's not focus on those minuscule details, shall we?  
  
Risking a glance at my unwilling patient, I smirked slightly. It was hard to look threatening or 'super' anything when your face was swollen like a balloon. However, my amusement faded when his wrist tensed, bringing me to a screeching stop. Not good. Abort mission. I repeat, abort mission.  
  
His eyes, though nowhere near as clear and savage as they were when fully conscience, possessed enough self awareness to scare me. I could hear him struggle to speak, but I made no attempt to discern his words, too busy trying to locate an empty room. By now, we were surrounded by a traffic jam of Cadets, doctors, and basically everyone I really didn't want to see at this point in time.  
  
Staff Only. The words were broadcasted in bright red on a door, and beneath that, Anaesthesiology Lab. I sincerely hoped no one needed powerful sedatives at the moment, because that's our destination. Arriving in 20 feet, on left.  
  
Perhaps luck was with me- when I continued my march, I found no resistance. Maybe the drugs were stronger then expected, but that explanation was far from satisfying. Approaching in 10 feet, on left. My heart quickened, and I suppressed a whine of agitation. Arriving in 5 feet. On left. I was rather enjoying myself with the GPS impression. It was distracting.  
  
Arriving at destination. I checked the padlock, before punching in a series of meaningless numbers, and pushing the door open with an aggravated shove.  
  
Now that we were safe, I'd need to figure out how to smuggle him onto the Enterprise, and keep his presence hidden.. Revenge would be enough motivation to behave, but there was no way in hell he'd follow me like a domestic lap dog... good thing I had that covered.. but how to convince Kh-. My thoughts were broken by the metallic clink of a guns safety being taken off. A voice, rough, rasping, but neither unsteady, nor anything less then absolutely confident summoned yet another over exaggerated eye roll.  
  
"Year," It took me a second to register, in which his impatience ran out, and he pushed the gun into my spine harshly.  
  
"The year. What year is it?" His voice was demanding, yet breathless. I liked him better when he was drugged up.  
  
"2260." I could hear a sharp intake if breath, could almost feel the cold giddiness of his perverse excitement, and I grit my teeth. Dammit, I didn't have time for this.  
  
"Where are we?" I remained quiet, using the precious seconds to search the inside of my coat. He reacted by jamming the gun beneath my chin, forcing my neck to crane at an uncomfortable angle.  
  
"Give me our current location, or I will not hesitate to paint the walls with your cerebral matter." No kidding. I tried to wrench my head away, but I couldn't budge.  
  
"The east wings Anaesthesiology Lab." I saw his lips turn up at the edges, and bared my teeth. With a viscous growl, my fingers groped a small, metallic object, pressing against a round, forgiving surface. Immediately, Khan's grip loosened, allowing me to pull away from his unyielding head lock. Giving the small item another push, his muscles seized, face contorting in enraged shock, as well as pain, and he collapsed in on himself.  
  
"Will that be all, sir?" I spat venomously, as his body spasmed, furious blue eyes glaring up at me. I stuck my tongue out, purposely treading on his fingers as I crouched down to retrieve my gun. I saw his body jerk, and in a split second, I had the muzzle of the weapon trained on him. He froze, his jaw clenched, eying the emergency evacuation button on the wall to the left of me. Following his gaze cautiously, I gave him a major stink eye.  
  
"Don't even think about it, bub." I ignored his fixating gaze, instead, taking a step back, to survey the super-mess sprawled across the floor.  
  
"Yeah, that's right. Be pissed at the person who broke your ungrateful, frozen ass out of its cryo-tomb. I only risked my life, freedom, not to mention credibility for your super-freak hide, next go, I'll find something more rewarding to do with my time." I sincerely hoped there would never be a second go. Khan didn't appear especially fazed, still staring at me with his unnerving blue eyed gaze, but I guess when you're a 300 year old former warlord turned weaponologist, turned rebel, turned vengeful popsicle, not much comes as a surprise. I suppressed a disgusted shudder, instead, replacing the Beretta in its holster, but refusing to take my own eyes off of him, even as he pulled himself into a predatory crouch.  
  
"What have you done to me?" His voice had retained a gravelly, unused quality, but there was no illusions of the power or fear it commended. It held the wary, animalistic edge, of a caged wolf, and I knew if I pushed him to far, he would have no queries about pushing back. At the moment, however, I had his attention, his curiosity.  
  
"I've made you containable. You can't tame a tiger, and to train one is delusional. But even the lowest life form carries a healthy respect for what it deems a threat." He coughed, chest expanding violently, and I felt alarm spread through me. Maybe I'd given him to much, or perhaps he was allergic to one of the chemicals I'd metaphorically knocked him up with. It took me a few seconds to realise he was attempting to laugh. I think I preferred the latter scenario- I knew how to deal with that, at least.  
  
"I hate to break it to you, ma'am, but you do not appear to register as a threat. More of a slightly amusing insect..." I fixed him with a look that would've made any self-respecting Vulcan wither into a sand castle of shameful, morose particles. Unfortunately, Khan's cellular structure made no move to disband and collapse into a super pile of genetically enhanced dust.  
  
"This amusing insect, as you put it so kindly, has no problem standing here all day, watching you writhe in agony on the floor, if you do not do exactly what I want you to do." I replied crisply, trying not to sound too smug. I saw a flash of rage burn behind his intense gaze.  
  
"What do you want?" He didn't beat around the bush, did he? I could respect that.  
  
"The same thing as you." I cringed on the inside a little, because that was only partially true. I think he could sense I was being fallacious, but he said nothing, instead, making the slightest, stiffest inclination of the head discernible. It would have to suffice.  
  
"In response to your prior inquiry, I have performed an improvised implantation of an electrical conductor in between the ligaments of your spine, and your brain stem. Before you try to remove it, or something equally unadvised, I would keep in mind that the sensitivity of the mentioned spot is essential to major cerebral functions. Any attempt to remove it without proper knowledge of the procedure is likely to result in permanent damage to your brain, spine, or both." This time, I did not make an attempt to keep the self-congratulatory nature of my tone from escaping. Khan's eyes hardened into cold, emotionless balls of ice. I failed to care.  
  
Slowly, his muscles tensed, pushing against the floor to find solidity in his stance, and he rose, towering above me in both height and essence. Show-off. I didn't break my gaze until my eyes began to water, but the lab was dark, so I doubted he'd notice.  
  
"I am Kh-" I interrupted him sharply, curling my lip slightly.  
  
"Khan Singe. Genetically altered super-freak, senile exile, brainiac, etcetera. It's Kat. The illiterate kind." I felt a twinge at the old joke, it's how I used to introduce myself in primary school. Kat wasn't my actual name, rather, the abbreviation my initials spelled out {Kylar Aaron Thompson}, but it stuck, and it helped me distance myself from people. It made things.. less personal. E.T. was El's first and last initial, but I called her that mostly because she had the longest, slimmest fingers, and these big, soul-searching eyes. She had. . . the most beautiful hands. The hands of a painter, an artist. Hands of a musician, a piano player, a violinist.  
  
Hands that were meant to hold.  
  
I shook my head, curling my fingers into a white knuckled fist, but restrained from striking out. I couldn't have Khan thinking I was unstable- or really, anything less then compos mentis. Weakness was not an option.  
  
I turned to look at my companion, fixing him with a most likely undeserved glare, to which he was spectacularly unimpressed.  
  
"Don't speak, just look pissed. Yeah, like that. We don't have time for bullshit, so if you're going to try to reassertion control, do it when we're safely on the Enterprise. Got it, Ice Man?" Almost a full minute passed before he jerked is head in the most hateful nod I had ever seen. I rolled my eyes, and without further ado, opened the doorway, and walked into the light.


End file.
